This morning I got the news, a bit late, that Coach Collins passed away last Thursday. (http://www.eagletribune.com/local/x1196448741/End-of-an-era) The news wasn’t completely shocking; at the age of 82 he wasn’t a spring chicken any more, and his health wasn’t perfect, either.
What was more surprising than his passing was how powerful the news was to me and how deeply saddened I’ve been since hearing the news, despite the fact that I haven't seen him in over a decade.
I spent about an hour this morning reading his memoirs “The Word Quit Does Not Exist”. My perspective since it was published, when I was 19 (I’m now 36) has changed significantly. Growing up in Andover, Coach Collins’ dedication was not nearly as astounding to me as it appears from the perspective of a software engineer, where people change teams, projects, or companies every few years.
Coach Collins taught and coached football and track and field at Andover High for 37 years. In the summers, he taught at Phillips Academy. Did he ever have a free minute for himself in all those years? I can’t imagine that he possibly could have. I, on the other hand, grumble about volunteering just a fraction of my free time to teach climbing and backcountry skiing. And yet he gave so much that in return he received much joy in the form of love that his students and athletes gave to him.
I remember wondering why Coach Collins wrote his memoirs back in the day, shortly after he retired. It seemed like somewhat aimless storytelling. Where, exactly, was the plot? Now I see his book as a gift to all of us, the community of Andover, sharing our successes and reminding us of the good that is in all of us; he spoke ill of no one. And in it, we again receive the gift of his wit, wisdom, and values; we learn about his own heroes.
In a time when I find it hard to find people whom I genuinely look up to, Coach Collins stands out as someone I truly respect and admire. I will never be someone of his stature, but if I had 1% of his skills as a speaker, leader, and coach; 1% of his generosity… for just one day, I would be truly happy.
It’s funny, the random things that I remember about him, too. “Never curse a ballpoint pen,” he said when he tried to write something on a piece of paper posted on his door but failed as gravity fought against him. There was some story about him receiving a scholarship from a ballpoint pen company. I think about that every time I can’t get a ballpoint pen to work.
Sometimes when I close a presentation I’m giving, I find myself asking, “Any questions, comments, or words of wisdom?” That’s how he closed every class, and it still works today.
I loved his system of coaching track & field that rewarded everyone for hard work, in a sport where talent is more often praised. When I tell my current friends of our track team that had over 150 members, they’re astounded. It was the fairness of system that drew people to it. More people working hard meant more success. And more success drew more people.
I learned of Coach Collin’s passing this morning when I picked up my phone after returning home from my early morning run. If it hadn’t been for his fairness, his reputation, and success as a coach, I may never have considered quitting the softball team to join the track team. If it hadn’t been for Coach Collins, I might not have started running and enjoyed running in college; might not have made so many friends through running; might not have explored many places around the world through running; might not have maintained a high level of fitness by running. The gift of running was one of his great gifts to me.
His smile from those many years ago shines through brightly as I think of him. He seemed so genuinely happy to work with us and see us. He clearly cared about us - his students, his athletes, his colleagues, his community. I wish I could see his smile and shake his hand again.
Thank you, Coach Collins. I miss you so much.
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